


Change

by WhiteLadyDragon



Category: DRAMAtical Murder (Visual Novel), DRAMAtical Murder - All Media Types
Genre: Derogatory Language, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Interracial Relationship, M/M, Male Slash, Mild Language, Racism, Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-15 07:25:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4597998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteLadyDragon/pseuds/WhiteLadyDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A look into a day in the life of Mink and Aoba. The pair attempt to try a new restaurant at Aoba's request only to be met with inexplicable hostility. Written for my friend Fenikkusu_Ai (aka ShiningSteel on DeviantArt, aka serpentatsunset on Tumblr) for her birthday. Also my very first DMMD fanfic. </p><p>Disclaimer! All fictional entities featured or mentioned in this segment belong to Nitro+chiral. This fan fiction was written for pure entertainment purposes and generates no profit whatsoever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Change

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fenikkusu_Ai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fenikkusu_Ai/gifts).



We don't go out on the town much besides for errands or work. At home, we take turns cooking dinner (I do it four nights a week, he does it three) and I pack Mink's lunch for him almost every night before he goes to work. Mink's usually the one to make breakfast, not because I don't want to necessarily but it's so darn hard to get up as early in the morning as he does. It's hard enough to get up for my own job. Doesn't matter if it's been almost a year since we started living together. Some things don't change, I guess.

One day, though, I'm hankering for a slight change in routine. I pitch the idea to Mink when we're all out getting our hands (and paws, and talons) dirty in our little herb garden. I kneel next to him, watering the base of our elderberry sapling after he spreads mulch around it to stop any nasty weeds from choking it.

On my left, Ren digs a tiny hole at the exact depth we need. He backs away to let Harucan open his beak to let the tiny seed drop into the rich, moist soil, then steps forward again to cover the hole back up, patting the dirt in place with his tiny blue paws. We're also planting flowers to spruce things up and to attract butterflies and bees.

The butterflies, I look forward to. The bees, not so much. Although bees make honey, so there's a trade-off.

"So, Mink."

"Hm?"

I get straight to the point as Mink prefers. "We should do something fun, like go to town on a lunch date. Like when we're on break. It doesn't have to be anything fancy." Not that there is anything particularly upscale in Mink's hometown that I'm aware of, and besides Mink isn't crazy about fancy.

"What do you say?" I smile up at him.

He doesn't answer for a bit, thinking over my request. He asks slowly, "What did you have in mind?"

I reach up to scratch my chin, only to remember that my hands are dirty so I settle for wiping my chin with my forearm. "Weeeelllll…the last time we were up I noticed a new café that just opened. It looks promising, the food looks appetizing and the prices I saw posted looked reasonable. Ah…I forget its name but it's nearby your shop. I'll know it when I see it. I think it's worth a try. And then we can go for a walk afterwards," I hastily add.

The other day during our morning routine I caught Mink checking out his stomach. "I've gained weight," he'd said, pinching the slight flab building up around his stomach. There was no hint of displeasure in his voice. Actually, unless my eyes were playing tricks on me, I thought for a second I saw the corners of his mouth curl up into one of his rare smiles.

Still, I tried to reassure him that he's still very attractive and if he thinks I'm fattening him up with my current repertoire, I can fix my cooking so it's less fatty. Then his smile faded. "I don't mean it like that," he'd said mildly. "I was just…thinking out loud."

It took a bit for me to realize the profoundness of his comment, thinking back on the things he and I have been through, apart and together. It's Mink's subtle way of saying how much he loves the life we're building together since I first found him again. After what'd happened with Toue and Oval Tower. A wave of love for him swelled through me, leaving me warm from head to toe.

We haven't actually come out and said the L-word to each other yet. But there's no rush. Most of the time it feels it would be redundant to anyway. We communicate it in the little things we say and do.

Not wanting to draw attention to it for both our sakes, I decided to tease him. "Okay, because you know I only do half the cooking around here."

Back in the present, Mink agrees to the date—yay!—and we work out the logistics while we finish preening the garden.

That Friday (it's pretty much agreed on worldwide that the weekend's the best time for dates) I punch out for my lunch break, bid my workmates goodbye for now and meet up with Mink in front of his crafts store. I reach up on my toes to wrap my arms around his thick neck and give him a big, juicy kiss. I tangle my fingers in his soft, wavy chocolate-brown hair as I feel him wrap his more muscular arms around my waist and shyly return the gesture.

Sometimes I forget that Mink is uncomfortable with public displays of affection. "Oh, I-I'm sorry," I blurt when we pull away. "I'm just really happy to see you."

"Likewise," he answers simply. Harucan, who had flown out of the way when he'd seen me coming, calmly flutters back down from the wooden sign overhead to resume his place on Mink's right shoulder. He silently acknowledges Ren who pokes his head out from my duffel bag to say hello.

"The eatery Aoba was referring to is called The Mantel," says Ren. "It's only a quarter-mile northwest from here."

"See, Mink? We'll get some exercise along the way, work up our appetites!" I cheer. Then I notice that he's looking elsewhere, his lips making that taut, thin line when he senses trouble. His brow furrows.

"Wh-what's wrong?" I ask.

I get my answer by turning to face the direction Mink is to see a man looking at us funny. I catch him just as he breaks our gaze and hurries along his way. He speeds off like he's just seen something vaguely disturbing.

"Nothing, Aoba," Mink cautiously replies at last. "Come on, let's go."

We hold hands on our way to The Mantel. I've grown more than used to how my fingers feel squeezed between Mink's larger ones. His hand is warm to complement the mild afternoon, his skin soft and brown like the spice he smells like. Cinnamon.

The first thing I notice when we get there and ring the bell to signal our arrival is the namesake of the place. The mantel of course. It's got a stone fireplace neatly kept much like our brick one at home. Decorating it are antlers from a deer species I doubt is native to this area. Whoever set up shop here must be a foreigner.

Maybe I can pick up some delicious new recipes to try at home?

We help ourselves to a table and sit across from each other. I carefully place Ren and my bag on the floor at my feet and Harucan ducks his head to pick through his feathers. While we wait for a server to come by with menus and drinks, we catch each other up on how our days have been going so far. Things are slow at Mink's store. My day has been a bit more interesting.

I have to stop to catch my breath between my snorts of laughter. "And then he's all, 'Hm, why is there no water coming out of this damn hose?' I-I notice a kink a couple feet behind him and while he's sticking his eye into the spout I went over to undo the kink—fwoooosh! He's soaked from head to toe and the hose is dancing all over the place getting everything wet! Ha-hahaha! Oh Mink, you should've been there! Me telling it to you doesn't do it justice. Isn't that right, Ren?"

"Indeed. Mike didn't seem to find it that humorous, though…"

Mink says nothing. Normally I can at least crack a tiny smirk from him and, even more awarding, a chuckle when I tell him about funny things that happen during my day. But right now he seems uneasy and for a moment I can't figure out why.

Then I realize no one's even gotten us menus yet. When I do, I feel my patience rapidly slip away through my tapping fingers into the polished wood table.

"Hey, what's taking so long? Someone should have come served us by now."

I catch the eye of a waitress heading around the counter on the far end of the room. I smile and wave to her, beckoning her over as politely as I can.

She breaks our gaze and hurries away.

To add insult to injury, she goes over to take an order from a guy who'd just walked in. After us.

What?

"Hey! We were here first."

"I think we should go someplace else," says Mink.

"No way! I'm not taking this lying down. She's being rude."

"Rude servers are basically a staple to any restaurant," he mumbles. "Let's go."

"Oh, we will. After I get a word in."

"No Aoba, it's not worth it. Come on, we're losing time on our lunch break…"

I've already got my back to him so I don't see him brush his giant, rough fingers against my arm. But either he balks or I'm too quick because if he did make a grab for me, he misses.

The waitress is tanned up and middle-aged, her silver-lined brown hair tied up in a limp, ruffled bun on the back of her head. I catch her at the counter just as she gives the other's guy order to the cook on the other side of the window. I clear my throat loudly to get her attention, trying super-hard to stay calm despite how pissed off I am by the gesture. When this doesn't work, I call out to her:

"Excuse me? Excuse me, ma'am? Um, I hate to impose but it's been like twenty minutes and no one's taken our order yet." I lean on my arms, my hands splayed on the counter.

She slides a glazed, surly look my way. "I didn't see you there," she says. What a bald-faced lie! What's this lady's problem?

"I could be wrong but I'm pretty sure you did. We were here first."

"Uh, no, y'all weren't. If you could please go back to your seat like a normal person—"

I can feel my eyes twitch in frustration. "Are you kidding me? Me and Mink are pretty hard to miss. I've got blue hair and he's probably the tallest guy in town. If you don't mind me saying, you're not making us feel too welcome right now."

An old man's gravelly voice cuts in. "That's 'cause you ain't."

While I reel back from the surprise, I see the cook pop out from the swinging door, wiping his meaty hands on his stained white apron. He's wearing a cap over his huge, egg-shaped head and he's almost as tanned as the waitress. He's squinting at me like I'm something gross.

"Huh? What d'you mean, we're not welcome? We're paying customers. What the heck did we do?"

The old man sneers at me. "Reckon Madge didn't make it clear enough: we don't serve your kind."

At first I'm so overcome with shock I don't get what he means. Does he not like Japanese people? Or is he talking about Mink's people? Or…?

Hey, wait a second. He looks kind of like the guy that was looking at us weird when we'd met up.

He turns to Mink and Harucan, both of whom are up on their feet and glaring back. "No wonder you Indians are goin' extinct: whatever's left of you, ya'll turned into faggots. Fuckin' savages."

That last word snaps something deep inside my brain like a trigger for an alarm. How could these people we don't even know be so nasty to us when just a while ago we were willing to pay them for food?

I don't mean to say that the concept of homophobia is foreign to me. It's one of the reasons Koujaku went around pretending to like just girls even though he actually likes both boys and girls. Back home in Midorijima the idea of men being with men wasn't talked about hardly at all. I'm lucky to have friends and a granny who don't sweat over things like that.

My shock mostly comes from the fact that this has got to be the first time I've heard someone be so outspoken about how much they don't like two men together. From what I've seen so far, Americans often aren't as subtle, or as polite, about their opinions as Japanese people.

Says the Japanese guy who springs over to the cook without hesitation, my head and arms throbbing painfully with anger. How dare he talk to Mink that way? It's been a long time since the other me—Sly, Desire—came out. I don't know if he's going to now, but I wouldn't at all be surprised if he did.

"Hey, asshole! Say whatever you want about me but don't ever talk to Mink like that!" I jab a finger into his fat, red face.

"Gladly: git outta my restaurant, twinky!"

Before it hits me, the guy's hoisting me up by the collar of my shirt and he throws me back towards the door. As I crash down to the floor on my butt, I hear Ren growl, "Aoba!"

I hear him scamper up to the counter and see him get in front of me, his pointy ears flattened against his head and his nose and beady eyes crinkled in warning. Ren is normally very gentle and calm, but that doesn't at all mean he won't react to jerks like this guy. His dark blue fur rises all over his body.

There's no telling what he'll do to Ren though if he's got the guts to say such horrible things, so I hurry over to scoop him up into my arms, shielding him as he's tried to shield me. A shadow looms over us both and at first I don't see who it is.

But when I adjust to the light haloing the silhouette above me, I don't know whether to worry or cheer.

Mink towers over the cook. He takes care not to touch him, but he doesn't have to anyway. Just standing up to him chest to chest is enough to intimidate him. Guys like him are like that. Cowards.

"You've got some nerve to call us unwelcome when we've lived here long before your kind showed up," Mink says, low and dangerous. I don't know whether he's talking about us two in this town or his people on this land. Either way, it's a great shot. Harucan stays perched on Mink's shoulder, his own expression unimpressed by the cook in front of him.

"If this is how you're going to treat customers, then I would expect your business to close in about three months, at the most. But please do everyone here a favor and stay away from my partner."

Mink sounds like he wants to say more, like demand an apology on my behalf, but he doesn't. We both know we won't get one, or at least we'd get a really crappy one that isn't worth asking for.

The guy recovers enough to point to the door and snarl back, "Go on, then. Git, you dirty timber nigger. Take your pasty little chink with you."

Okay, now he's just being ridiculous. I want to punch him and I'm sure Mink is tempted to too. It's doubtful that anyone would call authorities. Here in this town, people usually settle their differences between themselves without intervention.

But we don't. Mink turns to help me back onto my feet and we escort each other out. He keeps one muscular arm wrapped around my shoulders, like he might lose me but at the same time he's afraid to break me by squeezing too tightly.

I can't resist turning my head one last time to stick my tongue out at those guys before they melt out of my sight. Then Mink brings my attention back to him.

"Are you all right?"

"Y-yeah, I'm okay. Are you? I'm so sorry. If I'd known that was how we would be treated I'd have never recommended that place."

"You didn't know. At least we'll know better for next time."

Maybe it's just my imagination, or my eyes re-adjusting to the sunlight outside, but for a second I think I see Mink's golden eyes shining and watery.

…

Because we're both running out of time for lunch, we settle on picking up fruit and vegetables at one of our neighbors' produce stands. We don't talk about the incident at The Mantel for the rest of the day. That is, until we ride back home on Mink's motorcycle hours later after we punch out for today.

Once we've settled back in, I wander back out of the cabin to look out at our yard from the front porch. The sunlight through the trees turns pale as the sun starts its lazy descent into the west. I support my head in both hands and concentrate on the warm, soft breeze entwining itself in my hair like Mink's fingers do when he's fixing his feathers and beads into it.

I hear footsteps come up from behind me. My eyes fly back open to see Mink leaning over the rail, supporting himself on his folded arms. We don't say anything to each other at first, just admiring how great our garden is coming along.

Soon I break the silence. Initially I wasn't sure whether to bring it up at the risk of making him uncomfortable, but then I decide it'd probably help in the long run to talk with him about it.

It hadn't just been that jerk's comments about us and our relationship that pissed Mink off. Who wouldn't they piss off? It took half the day afterwards to realize it (I might have been quicker on the uptake had I not been seething about all those names thrown at us), but I wonder if when he saw the guy put his hands on me, he saw himself there. The man in the dreads and leather coat armed with a hunting knife and a vengeful death wish.

Our history together has been…tough, to put it very mildly. Even after all this time we've been together, I know he still thinks about it sometimes. So do I. And we probably will for the rest of our lives. But the point isn't to just forget about the past. It's to embrace and grow up from it.

Anyway, I say, "I forget. Whose turn is it to do dinner?"

"Mine."

"Oh, okay. 'Cause I can't think of something different to do that we haven't had this week."

…

"How could those people say things like that? What difference does it make to them that we're together?"

Mink inhales deeply, contemplating my question. "It doesn't. Some people like them just decide it does. Because it's different from what they're used to. It's not worth trying to make sense of it. There's none to be had."

"Huh." I scoot a little closer to him. "Wonder if they're like that with everyone, no matter how great they are? You could have pummeled that guy. But you didn't."

…

…

"Mink?"

"Hm?"

"You're still better than him. You know how?"

Mink doesn't say anything. He just turns to me in mild surprise, maybe some confusion.

I smile at him. "Well for one thing, he probably won't change no matter who comes along. You can. You have. You still are. And 'cause of that you'll still have a business long after he closes his." I'm half-teasing at that last remark but otherwise I fully mean what I say.

Mink blinks slowly at me, processing what I've just said. I guess from a certain point of view it may sound slightly corny. Having a compelling voice doesn't make me a poet. But I'm telling the truth, and I know he knows it.

Eventually he lifts his left arm, inviting me to come under it. I do, sliding an arm around his trunk and nuzzling into his broad, strong chest. I breathe in his spicy scent, relishing the sensation of his fingers stroking back my hair. I still can't get over how gentle he is with it despite the size of his hands and knowing full well what feats they're capable of.

Mink sniffs and plants a feathery kiss on the top of my head. We don't have to say the L-word to each other, though I don't doubt that that's where both our feelings are at now.

Listening to him murmur, "Thank you, Aoba," is enough.


End file.
